Is There a Problem Here?
by Infinite Stupidity
Summary: Shepard sets out to save the galaxy from the impending doom it faces once more. Keeping the peace between her collection of aliens and the Cerberus crew will be more difficult than she thinks, but if anyone can do it, Shepard Commander can. Right? Follows the events of Mass Effect 2, mostly cannon. fem!Shepard x ? romance included.
1. Introducing Commander Shepard

**Author's Note:**

**Alrighty! Well I have my Chemistry prelim tomorrow morning, and instead of revising I've completed Mass Effect 3 within three days. So to celebrate my upcoming failure, the plot bunnies bouncing around in my cranial cavity have decided to come out to play. This will be mostly cannon, and I haven't decided on any pairings yet. It's a let's-see-where-this-goes kind of fic as the majority of mine are.  
Anyway, enjoy!**

A whole floor to myself. A whole damn floor. Cerberus didn't skimp in the expense or luxury, _clearly_.

Although I'm not entirely sure how to feel about Miranda now occupying the space that I once called home…almost as if the Cerberus officer is intruding on precious memories.

I shake my head in amusement as I look over the empty glass casing spanning almost the entire expanse of one wall. Did Illusive Man think I needed a hobby or something? Not like facing down whatever it is preying on human colonies is enough to be getting on with at the moment, I need something else to fill _all my spare time that I don't have_. It's entertains me to no end seeing all the modcons TIM had indulged in when recreating the Normandy. The armour station, for one, is definitely new – although I hazard a guess that it will come in more than handy.

"_Commander, XO Lawson requests your presence on Deck 3."_ I frown, still unsure about this AI TIM has saw fit to include. So much could go wrong with it, and I have had more than enough of my fair share of rogue AI's. That moon mission on Luna had been a disaster in the making.

"Thank you, EDI. Please inform Miranda that I will be there shortly. Did she mention what it was about?" The robotic, but distinctly female voice responds quickly.

"_I believe she would like to go over the dossiers the Illusive Man has provided." _I nod my acknowledgement to the blue avatar next to the door as I walk past into the lift. I hope to whatever god that may be up there that Cerberus has at least improved the lift speed in their remodelling venture.

….

"Ah, Shepard, please take a seat." Miranda gestures to the ridiculously comfortable looking armchair in front of her desk and taps a few times on her terminal. I'm positive she's designed this area by herself just so that she can assume the role of the businesswoman behind the desk. Just another title to accompany "Ice Bitch".

"EDI told me you wanted to look at the dossiers. What's on your mind?" I sit in the overstuffed monstrosity, sinking down a couple of inches into the cushions. I suspect, upon noting that this places me lower down than the queen bee herself, that this is also by design. The slight upward curve of her lips as she looks at the screen tells me I'm right.

"You're correct. I want to discuss what our next move is. I suggest that we go after the salarian first – he can begin looking into protection against the Reaper forces." I take the offered data pad from her manicured hand, looking over the lightly translucent orange screen quickly. It's the briefing on a Mordin Solus character.

"He's on Omega?"

"Yes, he appears to be running a medical clinic there. As I said, he is our best starting point on this mission without a doubt." I look at her for a moment, taking in the sheer confidence her icy blue eyes exude – her posture is that of a woman who is entirely sure of herself. This is someone who has been entrusted with a lot of power in the past and is used to giving out orders.

Well guess what? I'm Commander fuckin' Shepard. And two can play at that game.

I lounge back into the chair, leaning an elbow on either arm rest as I sling an ankle over my other thigh.

"Well it certainly sounds like a decent strategy, but I think I'll look over the files myself and assess priorities just to make sure. I like to know _all_ the information before making a decision you see." Miranda's expression has stiffened and her smile is still firmly in place. Ooh she did not like that.

"Of course, Shepard. I'd just like you to keep the salarian in mind." I nod and hold out my hand for the dossiers, which she hands over after a brief but tangible pause.

"It's quite possible that I'll come to the same conclusion as you, but we need to be sure." She nods as I stand and head to the door.

Shepard – 1, Miranda – 0.

….

"You two have everything you need?" Jacob nods, and Miranda answers with a curt "yes, Shepard."

"Good, let's go get our scientist." Miranda looks caught between being smug and annoyed.

I spent a good few hours coming to a decision for which order we would recruit the potential team members before coming to the same conclusion as Miranda: Mordin was top priority. I guess he would be anyway – Miranda is nothing if not intuitive – but I still needed to assess the other dossiers at the same time.

Miranda probably thinks I'm trolling her hard by shooting her down, wasting a couple of hours, and then "stealing" her plans anyway. I didn't, of course, but I'm not going to correct her. I'll let her ego have this one. There's plenty of time to smite her later.

Shepard – 1, Miranda – 1.

….

"Don't fuck with Aria." I'm glad she isn't looking at me at that moment. I doubt my reflexive eye roll would help improve relations between the self-proclaimed queen of Omega and myself.

"Wouldn't dream of it." My dry tone causes the corner of her mouth to quirk slightly.

"Then we shouldn't have a problem, should we? Now, what do you want." She speaks bluntly as if I'm nothing but a pain.

"Information if you have any, on the location of a salarian doctor named Mordin Solus." Aria tilts her head to the side, looking at me with those calculating blue eyes. The slyness in her expression is more than detectable – it's blatant.

"Mordin, you say? And why would a supposedly dead Spectre have any interest in finding a half beat scientist?" I fix her with a cool stare and say nothing. She rolls her eyes in an uncaring fashion and sighs.

"Mordin is an…ah, _interesting_ character. He has some delusion that he can _heal_ the people of Omega one person at a time." Her tone is scathing; she clearly looks down on his ideals. "You'll find his med clinic in the residential sector not far from here – but I warn you: he's as likely to heal you as he is to shoot you."

"Sounds like his bedside manner is terrible." This earns a smirk from the asari before it promptly disappears.

"If there's nothing else –"

"Archangel."

Aria's eyes narrow dangerously, the tattoos across her brow lowering with her frown. She waves a hand carelessly.

"Archangel is of no interest to you. He'll be dead by the morning." Now my interest is piqued.

"What sort of trouble is he in?" She glares at me, but I remain unfazed.

"He pissed a lot of people off, thought him and his little vigilante gang could cleanse Omega with their idealistic views probably born of the Citadel. I told him myself there's no place for that here." She relaxes a little and fixes each of us – Miranda, Jacob and myself – with a condescending smirk before continuing.

"The Blue Suns, Blood Pack and Eclipse are all after him. They've got him pinned in some building down the east side with nothing but a sniper rifle to save him. The Blue Suns have been recruiting down there," she gestures to a room leading off the main bar. "to send people at him." Aria folds her arms and tilts her head to the side a little. I assume that's all she'll tell me, so I nod respectfully at her and stand.

"Thanks a lot."

"We'll see each other again, Shepard. I know everything that happens around here. You'll be back for something – everyone always comes back." I pause for a moment and look back, but Aria is already leaning on the balcony overlooking Afterlife, her back turned firmly to us. I take that as a sign to leave.

When we get to the bar area, I turn to my squad.

"Change of plan! We're going after this Archangel guy first!" I have to shout over the pounding bass of the club, but Miranda and Jacob both hear me. Jacob accepts it easily, nodding in agreement. Miranda does not.

"Shepard, the salarian scientist needs to start work straight away!" I shake my head firmly.

"Archangel doesn't have that long! This is an order, Lawson!" The woman stares at me for a moment, before nodding reluctantly.

"Good. Now let's go join a merc group!"

Shepard – 2, Miranda – 1.

…..

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." The view across the bridge is daunting. Only one way in, which also means only one way out. Archangel was either stupidly optimistic about his chances of lasting against every merc on Omega, or he was choosing a place for his final stand. Probably the latter. Aria was right about the sniper rifle. I can see, with the help of the zoom function on the HUD in my helmet, the circular sights peeking out around the window frame. He's holed up on the second floor with a perfect overwatch of the bridge.

"How the hell do we get in there without getting shot?" Miranda asks impatiently. Well sweetheart, maybe if you wore some substantial armour instead of a lycra catsuit, you might actually stand a chance of some protection in a firefight.

Out loud, I say "We go out with a wave of them. Half way across, we start taking the mercs down so he can see we're helping him." Miranda frowns, but Jacob is the one to speak.

"Sorry Shepard, but isn't that a little flimsy? I mean, he could just think we're eliminating the completion for his bounty money." I shrug.

"You got anything better? Just make sure you have your helmet on. He is a sniper after all – headshots are a given in that line of work." Jacob sighs and heaves his helmet in his right hand before pulling it over his closely shaven hair.

"I hope you're right about this…"

"Don't worry so much. Just remember to keep to moving."

Miranda mutters something about a lack of helmet, but I shake my head at her.

"Lawson, if you want to continue working in the field after this mission, I expect you to sort out a suit of armour or at the very least learn how to use your biotics to form a kinetic barrier. I'm sure you can find a spare Eclipse helmet on one of the dead mercs that will match your jumpsuit." Miranda sends me a barely-muted, dirty-as-hell glare and stalks towards the pile of corpses. How can she even stalk in those heels?

At any rate, Shepard - 3, Miranda - 1.

….

Archangel is properly dug in. My brows lower in concentration as I head into cover, keeping one eye on Miranda to make sure she does too. I may not necessarily like the woman, but I look out for my squad. I don't need to find Jacob to trust he knows what to do – he is ex-Alliance, after all.

Miranda has, indeed, managed to find a human shaped helmet. The white and yellow match her jumpsuit perfectly. I suppose it takes the sting out of messing up her hair.

"Alright, when I give the signal, Miranda I want you to Lift the two in front. Jacob, take the one to your left. I bet Archangel will want in on the action too." Jacob murmurs an agreement, Miranda nods.

About halfway across the bridge I give the signal; far enough away from the mercs on the side to freedom that they probably won't notice, close enough to the house on the other side for cover.

Dutifully, Miranda ensconces two mercs in a blue field, wrenching them into the air with a lift of her arm. I target one with my Eviscerator and allow the sniper in the window to headshot the other. Jacob manages to gun down the remaining two in the confusion.

"Nice work," I comment, taking point into the building. This was obviously somebody's home. There are bookshelves and a kitchenette, and the sitting area looks well used. There are also bodies, respectfully covered by sheets. Aria mentioned Archangel's team. Looks like he's on his own now. I drag my attention away from the perfectly lined up dead and try not to think of my own team – the one back on Akuze. Laying my friends to rest, fearing that putting them into the ground would only make it easier for the next Maw that came along looking for food. Looking at the care he took with each person, one thing becomes abundantly clear: these weren't just his teammates, they were his friends.

I feel a swell of guilt. If only I had been faster, or if the Illusive Man hadn't led me on a wild chase to Freedom's Progress when he already _knew_ it was the Collectors…maybe I would have been able to save these people. They had been fighting for the people of Omega, cleaning up the streets and making it a safe place to live. They had been good people – or at least had good intentions.

"Commander?" I shift my gaze to Jacob and realise I've stopped. I shake my head and move to the bottom of the stairs.

"Just thinking of how I'm going to address this guy. Never walk into a firefight without a plan of attack, right?" my short laugh isn't convincing anyone, but my team let it slide. I have to hack the door, but it's not difficult. I guess he never bargained on anyone actually making it to his front door.

We move inside swiftly and make sure there are no nasty surprises laid out for intruders – any door that easily broken through surely has some sort of follow up defence behind it. Actually, there isn't.

All we find is one tired looking turian in full armour, sighting down his scope as he leans weakly against the ledge. Despite his fatigue, the rifle never wavers. He raises a single talon in the universal gesture for "wait a moment" and snipes the shit out some unlucky gun for hire.

"Archangel?"

He reaches up and removes the helmet, uncovering a very familiar, very welcome face.

"Shepard, I heard you were dead." It takes all my willpower not to throw myself at him. It feels so good to see someone who is so decisively _not_ Cerberus, someone I can trust, that I feel like crying in relief. I manage to catch myself, but not before my arms raise halfway into a hug. I let them fall awkwardly back to my sides and try to cover for myself.

"Garrus! What the hell are you doing here?" He coughs slightly and clears his throat, and I notice his clan markings are looking a little old and smudged, like he hasn't had time to repaint them in a few days. Now that I look properly, his sharp blue eyes seem to be sagging, and his movements are clumsy – not so much that they are entirely noticeable, but Garrus is one of my best friends and I know what to look for.

His mandibles stretch into a wide turian grin, and his flanging voice is exactly as I remember it.

"Cleaning up shop. I came here a few months after you…ah, fell off the grid. Me and my team were making progress for a while, but…it's just me now. Nevermind that, though. The real question is: what are you going to do to save my sorry ass this time? I figure you owe me a couple and I'm calling them in."

"Yeah, I bet you are. Well you know this place better than us – what do we do?" Garrus absentmindedly scratches a plate on the side of his face.

"Well-" a muted explosion cuts him off, rocking the foundations of the house/base of operation.

"Damnit! Garm had to use his brain sometime I suppose. Shepard, they're coming in through the basement! Someone has to go down there and close off the blast doors before they break through." I nod and motion to my two teammates who have been standing by ad watching silently throughout the impromptu reunion.

"Alright, so we have a plan. Which one of you wants to stay here and watch his turian butt?" Garrus begins to protest, but I cut him off sharply. "You are in no shape to stay here by yourself, since they'll more than likely attack from both sides at once. Divide and conquer, right?" he closes his mouth with an amused frustration boiling in his eyes. "Now, which one is staying?"

Jacob stands to attention. "I'll stay, Commander. Miranda will be able to shield the doors with a barrier while you shut them down." I acknowledge this as a good plan – the kid obviously has an eye for tactics – and motion for Miranda to follow me as I head out the door. Just before it shuts, I call back "You die, and I'll kick your ass, Vakarian!"

I am rewarded by his multi-toned chuckle as the door swishes shut behind me.

Miranda casts her scathing eyes over me once before returning them forward.

"Do you have a problem, Operative Lawson?" my words crack through the air like a round firing from the barrel of a well-calibrated sniper rifle. I don't have time for Cerberus-loving xenophobes who look down on my crew – especially not if they are walking a fine line as it is.

Miranda does not look at me, but her spine grows even more rigid than her usually prefect posture dictates. I've intimidated her. Good.

"Not at all, Commander."

"Then carry on. We have a crew member that needs our help, and I'll be damned if we walk out of here empty handed." I check my spare thermal clips – 12 in total – and pop a new one into place on my shotgun, mentally ticking another point on the great scoreboard above our heads.

Shepard -4, Miranda -1.

Maybe Miranda should get a point for successfully bringing me back to life, people skills and diplomacy as intact as ever.

Nah.

**A.N – Thanks for reading! More to come soon.**

Did you love it? Hate it? Is it Marmite? Go ahead and leave a review – I read every single one and take everyone's views into consideration. I take great pleasure in reading your critiques, so please give me something to read :) 


	2. ALL The Feels!

**A.N – Hey guys! 2 chapters in as many days! Go me!  
Anyway, this one is a little less action packed and a little more getting to know Shepard and  
her relationship with some of the crew. It's slower than chapter 1, but I hope you still like it.**

**Disclaimer: I own sweet FA other than the right to play the DLC packs (damn you EA) and the appearance of my Shepard. **

**Onwards!**

Joker glances at me as I pass through the airlock, flicking the brim of his hat up in greeting. I suspect he uses it as an excuse to get a better look at the drama. He may be the Best-Damn-Pilot-In-The-Galaxy, but he's also the Nosiest-Gossip-Mongering-Pilot-In-Existence. He's lucky I get my daily scuttlebutt update from him and no one else; his dry humour injects a certain something to the delivery that no one else has so far managed to match.

"So Commander, I see we got Garrus back," he motions lazily to the stretcher being carted swiftly down the middle of the CIC towards the elevator. The trail of blue splashes that decorate the grate flooring behind them dances disturbingly as I look at it. I throw a dark glare in his direction, and he recoils at the intensity of it, raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. I sigh and let the expression fade into one of defeat. Joker doesn't mean to be an ass, it's just how he deals with things.

He probably doesn't realise it, but I've gotten to know him pretty well over my time on the Normandy – both of them – and I've gotten pretty good at reading him. I don't think he knows just how much concern I can see in those green eyes of his, so carefully shaded by that ridiculous baseball cap he insists on wearing.

"He'll pull through, Shepard. Garrus is a tough son of a bitch, always has been." His gentle words coax a smile out of me, and I cross to sit in the co-pilot's chair, sitting side saddle with my feet swung over the arm to face him.

"Look at you, suddenly knowing what to say! I don't think you're quite as bad with people as you believe, Joker." He shrugs, a half grin tugging at his lips.

"Nah, that's just what I want you to believe. It's all really just stuff I've seen in the vids carefully edited to fit the situation. Pretty clever, right?" I shake my head, grinning at his antics.

"You shouldn't be reassuring me, it's my job to reassure you and everyone else." Joker shifts uncomfortably as I rest my chin on my hand, as if he's wrestling with something he wants to say but doesn't know how.

I give him a moment to compose his speech, but when he shows no sign of formulating his words I beat him to it.

"What's biting you?" He sighs.

"You're always so busy figuring out how to keep everyone else happy, that you never seem to just stop for a second and figure out if you're okay. I mean, it's been what? Four days since you woke up _not dead_, and you've already saved a crazy quarian and taken out three merc gangs. Have you even had a moment to yourself to figure out your own head yet?" Joker looks at me with obvious worry in his eyes, but there's a little bit of fear there too as if he thinks I'll punch him in his crumbly spine for speaking out of turn.

I close my eyes and try not to think of the nightmares I've had since I've woken up in the Lazarus Project's base. The images flash up anyway; a block of ice in a harsh tundra, clear and reflecting my image back at me – it's not me as I know myself. The same red hair, except I realise it seems a little too bright, and the coppery smell filling my nostrils, and the clumps of it that detach from the rest in my hand soak the light material between the fingers of my gloves. My eyes still the same forest green, blinking red in the dilated pupils – another reminder of the machinery that whirrs and clicks deep inside my body. Is it in my brain too? Am I still me, or am I a highly advanced AI who thinks it's Shepard? Haven't Cerberus already proven they have the skill to do so? Isn't this what EDI is only a few steps away from?

No. The answer is no. I haven't had time to figure out my head. I'm not sure I want to try, fear of what I will discover pulling me back into the safety of naivety.

"Jane?" I open my eyes and am met by Joker's own searching my face.

"I'm fine, Jeff."

"You know I'm shit at this, and I know you think I blab everything I hear to anyone who'll listen, but I'm here. If you ever need to…you know, get something off your chest?" His brows pull down as his voice climbs at the end of the sentence, his confusion at this unfamiliar territory both apparent and endearing. I can't help but smile softly at the man who has become one of my closest friends as he stumbles over his words. His true love will always be the Normandy, where people and social nuances will never have a place.

I stand up and cross over to his chair, leaning down to kiss his cheek. My lips scratch against the stubble I find there.

"I know, Joker. Thanks." As I straighten back up, his confusion seems to vanish, replaced only by a subtle warmth in his cheeks and a small smile playing on his lips. He scratches his scruffy beard where my lips met his face, as if I tickled him.

"You've gotten soft in your old age, Shepard." I chuckle and step back, deciding I've given Chakwas enough time to assess the situation.

"You're only a year younger now, Joker. I'm back baby, good as new!" I throw a cheeky wink at him as I turn away, catching his good natured shake of his head.

"These last two years still counted, Commander. You're just as old as the rest of us!"

Standing in the elevator, a wide grin stretching my features, I realise that Joker always has a way of cheering me up without realising. I wonder if he does it on purpose, or if he's just naturally uplifting.

…..

Relief floods through me as Garrus delivers his line about krogan and scars.

He's safe, he's fine, he's not going to die…

My mantra makes me want to collapse in relieved exhaustion. I've not slept a wink all night, worrying over his wellbeing. He's healed enough (or doped enough) to be making jokes and taking part in our usual banter. I'll take it as a good sign.

That's no reason to let him know just how shaken I am, however.

I need to remain the face of strength and solidarity for this crew. Cerberus need to think that I'm handling everything they can throw at me. Showing weakness will bite me in the ass in the long run, especially to such a notorious foe. I fully expect them to turn on me like a wild dog the minute my _usefulness_ has been expended, and I fully expect to beat them to the punch long before they even suspect it.

Eyes are watching from all around me – and not just the human crew members. I'm not stupid or naive enough to presume that the Illusive Man hasn't placed bugs all over my ship. I'd be even more naïve to think he saved my own modesty by keeping clear of my personal quarters. Not to mention, of course, the ship AI that seems to have access to ship-wide surveillance.

It seems the only place I can really relax is the Citadel, and even there people aren't easy to trust. Everyone has an agenda.

I don't quite know when I became so very cynical. Maybe it was when I died and was brought back to life only to fulfil the needs of a terrorist group and perform the duty of a suicide mission.

Maybe it started back when I realised that no matter how blatant the evidence is, people don't want to believe anything big and bad is out there lurking on the fringes of existence until they float over to the council chambers and vaporise everything in sight with a dramatic death ray.

I'm secretly still waiting fingers crossed for that outcome.

Garrus's mandibles are pulled tight to his face, and despite his relaxed body language I can tell something's bothering him. I try for a casual smile and fold my arms, sinking into a hip in a familiar stance that I hope will help put him at ease.

I barely notice Jacob leaving with a muttered "I'll leave you two to it then."

"Shepard, are we really with Cerberus now?" I note the use of 'we' and not 'you'. Good. Garrus has already included himself in my team.

"No we are certainly not. Cerberus brought me back with some sort a science mojo, and the Illusive Man happened to have some resources to spare as well as a few missing colonies. Considering _someone_ had to look into it and the Alliance were doing fuck all, I'm taking advantage of them. That is _all_." Garrus seems to consider this for a moment, but he lowers his head in acknowledgement without much pause.

"Well I can't say I trust them, but I trust you Shepard." I grin at him and clap him on the shoulder, suddenly noticing the gaping hole in the front and back of his armour at the cowl. Circuitry fizzes and layers of polymer fabric lie bare and ragged. I gingerly pat the shoulder furthest away from his injury and grimace at the state of the protective gear.

"That's great and all, Garrus, but is there a reason you're still wearing that? It's _wrecked_." He snorts out a strange little chuckle that sounds like a cough and shrugs good naturedly.

"Vigilante's don't exactly make a bomb you know, and we kinda left in a hurry. This is all I have other than my guns. Don't suppose you stock turian armour, do you?" I grimace again and do a quick calculation in my head.

"No, but I'm heading back onto Omega to pick up a salarian and then we're going back to the Citadel. I'll get Miranda to head to a store and get you something casual to wear until we can get our hands on some decent armour for you. Sound good?" Garrus's mandibles flare wide in a grin before he winces, raising a taloned hand to caress his bandaged face and neck with a grunt.

"Sounds great. Too bad this still stings like a bitch though, and that's with all the meds Chakwas has me on." I make a small noise of sympathy and inspect the wound before slapping him firmly on the back.

"Chicks dig scars, you'll be better off with them than you were before. That's gotta count for something, right?"

…..

"You want me to _what?!_" I cross my arms and lean away from her, unimpressed. It's not really all that difficult to grasp.

"And here's me thinking you might actually _enjoy_ clothes shopping. Am I wrong? Or is it shoes you like?" Miranda narrows her icy eyes at me and I sigh, unfolding my arms.

"Look, it's not as big a deal as you're making out. Garrus doesn't have any clothes, and his armour is falling off him in pieces. He can't very well go back onto Omega while they all think he's dead – that'll just stir up a whole pot of shit I'd rather leave untouched. As for why I asked you, you're the XO and are in charge of all monetary exchanges. Plus, while you're doing this, Jacob and I can get Dr. Solus and we can be on the way to the Citadel within a few hours." Miranda leans forward in her seat, pressing one palm flat on the desk in front of her.

"And how, exactly, will it look when a female human enquires about male turian casuals?" Ooh, the imposing look does not look nearly as good on you as it does on me. Want to compare?

"It will look exactly as it is, Operative Lawson – the 'second in command' taking care of purchasing spare clothing for a new crew member on the company credit chit." I accompany my infallible and col logic with an intimidating glare as I lean over her desk. She shrinks back slightly and breaks eye contact.

"Good. Be back on the ship by 1600." I leave the cabin, hiding my smirk until my back is firmly turned.

Miranda -1, Shepard - …hell I'm starting to lose count.

Today has been a good day.


End file.
